


looking for heaven, found the devil in me

by el_em_en_oh_pee



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, First Time, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_em_en_oh_pee/pseuds/el_em_en_oh_pee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...yeah, so this is basically gratuitous "Quinn and Santana are roommates at Yale and one of their arguments turns into their first time having sex" smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	looking for heaven, found the devil in me

**Author's Note:**

> So. I have three friends who are pretty into Quinntana these days. As it would happen, one of them conveniently has her birthday at the same time that the other two have their anniversary! This is the least I could do for them <3
> 
> Like RIB probably will, I'm ignoring the fact that Quinn was in an accident in the last episode.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it~

"Can we please not do this again? _Please_?"

Santana is full-on ready to bitch Quinn out, even though they're roommates and maybe best friends again, because seriously this girl is nothing but infuriating when it comes to boys, when the tremor in Quinn's voice hits her. "Whatever," she says, rolling her eyes and mentally cursing her decision to give up filing her nails and saying the f-word for Lent.

"Thanks," Quinn says, sullenly, crossing her arms, and Santana really means to drop it, she really does. It's because Quinn turns to look back at the textbook spread across her lap, effectively ignoring Santana, that she goes off.

"I just don't see why you keep letting a no-rate ugly-ass scrawny little _boy_ get to you like this, is all," she says, opening up her laptop in case she needs to focus on something that is not Quinn or whatever.

"Oh my God, why are you always so weirdly obsessed with trash-talking the bodies of the people I date?" Quinn asks, slapping her textbook closed. "It's not like it's any of your business, right?"

"Right," Santana says. The computer is taking forever to boot up. She wants to be able to distract herself with typing in her password, but her laptop is still on the loading screen. She knew she shouldn't have gotten a PC just because it was within her budget and the MacBook Pro she really wanted wasn't. "It's totally not my business who my friend and roommate dates because that never affects me in the slightest."

"I don't know why it should," Quinn snaps. "I mean, I know that you're like, still mourning your decision to dump Brittany because you were going to schools over a thousand miles apart a year after the fact, but trust me, you really don’t have to get involved in my own relationships to make up for it."

Yeah, that's totally not it at all, but Santana is never ever going to tell Quinn _ever_ what's really going on. "Way to give yourself too much credit as usual, Fabray," she blusters. "Maybe I just want to see you with some actual taste in partners, rather than the usual poor decisions."

"And what might a _good_ decision be, Santana? _You_? Because I don't think –" Quinn cuts herself off, and Santana winces, mentally, at what Quinn must be seeing on her face right now. "Oh."

"Quinn, it's not-"

"I think it is, actually," Quinn says, slowly, and even though this is exactly the conversation Santana never wanted to have with Quinn, she has to marvel that they've been – what? Friends? Competition? Frenemies? Roommates? None of the words seem to fit – long enough and well enough that they understand each other without needing to finish their sentences or whatever.

Santana huffs. "Just drop it, Quinn," she says, in her most threatening tone.

Quinn obviously hesitates, but she still says, "Well, what if I don’t want to?"

"I seriously don't need this right now, Fabray. Go back to your organic chemistry." Quinn opens her mouth, and Santana quickly adds, "And don't make any jokes about organic chemistry, _please_ , Quinn, not only are they bad but I really just, I can't hear one right now."

But when Quinn speaks, it's something entirely different from what Santana expected her to say. "I thought you were still, you know. Hooked on Brittany."

Clearly, there is no way for this conversation to just not happen. "I love Brittany," Santana agrees. "She's my first love and one of my best friends. We also agreed that we'd be better off as friends almost _eight months ago_ , Quinn, you can't honestly think I'm that big of a sad sack."

"Oh," Quinn says, quietly. "Oh. I thought-"

"Well, you thought wrong," Santana says, and if her tone is impatient again, well. She just really wants this conversation to be over with.

"I could have avoided so much _shit_ if I'd just known, Santana. You should have told me," Quinn says, reproachfully.

"And have you, what, laugh in my face? Kick me out and leave me homeless? No thank you," Santana says, closing her laptop even though the log-in screen has been blinking at her for over two minutes now. "And don't deny that you would have done that, Quinn, I know you."

"Obviously not very well," Quinn says, rolling her eyes. "Because I wouldn't have." She laughs, a strange, twisted sort of chuckle. "Seriously, though, I would have really liked to have known so I could have avoided all of these stupid boys all year."

Santana blinks. Blinks again. "What are you saying?"

"What do you think I'm saying?" Quinn asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not going to spell it out for you if you can't actually say it, Quinn, honestly. God, we've only been over your avoidance techniques about thirty times in the past two months."

"Fine," Quinn bites out. "Fine. I find you attractive, okay? Hot, in fact, and you're one of my best friends, so obviously I like you."

Now, this? This is territory that Santana can navigate. She smirks. "That wasn't so hard to admit, now, was it? I'm like totally gorgeous."

Quinn groans, but it's less antagonized and more honestly amused, which is a good sign. She sits up straighter and heaves a pillow at Santana. "Ugh, you're the worst," she says, but she's smiling. Sort of.

"But seriously though," Santana says. "For real?"

" _Yes_ , for God's sake," Quinn says. "What, do you want it in contract, Ms Pre-Law?"

"Nah, that's cool," Santana drawls. "But I do think you should prove it."

"Prove it," Quinn says, flatly, and it's only because of years of friendship that Santana realizes she's nervous right now. "How?"

Santana is careful not to treat Quinn any differently than she usually would, because she doesn't want the girl spooking or whatever. "Use your imagination."

"Fine," Quinn says, patting her hair into place – which is dumb, because if she expects to prove it in any fun ways her hair is just going to get messed up again – and then pushing herself off the bed and taking the approximate step and a half necessary to get across the room. She stands at the edge of Santana's bed for a moment, just staring, before leaning forward and capturing Santana's mouth in a soft kiss.

Santana's hand comes up to cradle the back of Quinn's skull, fingers lacing through Quinn's hair, which now falls a little bit past her shoulders, and deepens the kiss, tilting her head slightly so that their mouths are better aligned, then letting hers fall open slightly, licking across the seam of Quinn's lips until they part to allow her access.

Quinn tastes of expensive lipstick and butterscotch hard candies, which she likes to suck on when she's studying, probably because she's secretly someone's grandfather or something.

(Thoughts of Quinn being like a grandfather just… disappear from Santana's mind when Quinn pushes Santana back, climbing onto the bed and biting her lip – not too hard, not too soft, just worrying it carefully between her teeth for what feels like forever during, but no time at all once she pulls away.)

Santana's arm – the one not behind Quinn's head – has apparently come around to the small of Quinn's back during all of this, and she tightens the grip now because she doesn't want Quinn to pull away, not yet. But Quinn makes a tiny voice that Santana can't identify, so she takes a deep breath and asks, "Is this okay?"

Quinn laughs. "Okay? Santana—" and instead of explaining further, she pulls free to move Santana's laptop to her desk, at the foot of her bed, and then crawls up Santana's body, inch by tantalizing inch.

Their dorm isn't air-conditioned, and the spring is slowly warming up, but Santana's pretty sure that it's Quinn's breasts pressing against Santana's own chest, through their layers of padded bra and sundress (Quinn) and pajama tank top (Santana), and Quinn's body heat and the way that she's kissing Santana like they have all the time in the world and not the temperature outside that has her starting to sweat.

Since Quinn is already being all take-chargey and stuff, Santana moves a hand down to the hem of Quinn's dress and starts pushing it up. Quinn chuckles into Santana's mouth, but doesn't say anything, so Santana pushes it further up, until she realizes that the flaw in her plans is that there's now a huge bulky pile of cloth on Quinn's back getting in the way of touching her

"You should get naked," she mumbles, also into the kiss, because she's a classy dame who knows how to woo a lady, and even though she literally just suggest Quinn do something that make Quinn move off momentarily, she panics when Quinn sits up, because what if that's too much for Quinn right now?

Though of course she doesn't have anything to worry about, because no matter how frigid Quinn may or, as Santana is now realizing, may not be, she's single-minded to the point of obsession when she's decided she wants something, and, for whatever blessed reason, she apparently wants Santana. "You have to, too," she murmurs, grabbing the hem of her dress and drawing it over her head, leaving her in just her lacy yellow bra and blue panties, and God, Santana's seen this much a million times between their time together in Cheerios and their months of rooming together, but it's different now because she's _allowed_ to find Quinn fucking hot as hell – and shit, the word slipped through into her thoughts; she'll have to be extra-careful that she doesn't let it slip while they – whatever they're about to do; seriously, _fuck_ Lent. And God, she wants Quinn's breasts to fall free of her bra, because Santana is definitely a breast woman. So she leans up, reaching around Quinn to unhook her bra and draw it off of her shoulders, letting it fall around her elbows and leaving Quinn to take it off the rest of the way, because she remembers that Quinn's deal was that Santana get naked too. 

Santana's not wearing a bra; she always takes it off as soon as she's in the room for the night. She vaguely regrets that fact, because now her breasts won't swing free once she pushes it off, but whatever, her rack is totally hot all the time no matter what, right? She pulls her tank top off unceremoniously and immediately latches her mouth onto one of Quinn's nipples, because they are like, basically right in her face right now, sucking it gently into her mouth and running her tongue around it in slow, dragging circles, feeling it harden up as she does so. Once it's hard enough to satisfy her, she nibbles on it, even more gently than Quinn did with Santana's lips, then starts kissing her way to Quinn's other nipple.

Quinn isn't having any of that, though. "Feels good," she says, as she pushes Santana flat onto her back. "I can think of something that would feel even better, though."

"Bitch, don't even pretend like I'm not great at sucking tit," Santana says, rolling her eyes, but she reaches down and starts tugging Quinn's underwear down, anyway.

Quinn pulls away. "Be _patient_ , Santana, seriously," she says, slapping Santana's hand away and busying herself in pulling off Santana's gym shorts and underwear in one continuous motion. 

Well, that shuts Santana up. She props herself up on her elbows and stares down as Quinn studies her naked body, eyes sweeping up and down, lingering on her crotch, the curve of a hip, the swell of a breast. She opens her mouth to ask if Quinn likes what she sees, but something in Quinn's focused expression makes her swallow her words.

Finally, slowly, Quinn pushes off her own panties and wedges herself on her side between Santana and the wall, back pressing up against the painted cinderblock, which can't be sanitary, but Santana's not complaining because Quinn reaches over and tweaks one of Santana's nipples then, before moving her hand lower

and lower

and lower, until she's stroking through Santana's folds. Santana feels a rush of heat and presses her thighs together because that always heightens the sensations she feels, not so tight that it traps Quinn's hand, but enough that when Quinn crooks her fingers against Santana's clit, it's like she feels it through her entire body. 

"Quinn," she whispers, and she pulls Quinn in for a rough, sloppy kiss, mouth open because she can't focus enough to close it, moving so haphazardly (because Quinn's finger is now finding a rhythm, circling around and around Santana's clit, but never quite slipping _over_ it, and it's so tantalizing and infuriatingly arousing but not quite _there_ , and Quinn is doing it like this completely on purpose or Santana's name isn't Santana Alma Dolores Lopez) that it's less of a kiss and more of just a poorly-executed way to muffle her moans. 

Santana is never one to not give as good as she's getting, so when Quinn finally, _finally_ slips her finger over Santana's clit (and Santana's so primed that her hips fucking _jerk_ into the touch), Santana pushes her hand down and starts touching Quinn, too. She doesn't want to touch her too much, though, because what she really wants to do is to look, and then to touch, and then to taste, and slowly figure out the absolute best ways to make Quinn come completely undone over the course of many, _many_ orgasms. 

She can _feel_ Quinn smirking into the kiss, or at least she thinks she can, and her suspicion is (probably) confirmed when Quinn pinches and twists, and god, now is _not_ a good time to ask if Quinn's been talking to Brittany. Like, that would probably be the worst idea ever, so Santana breaks the kiss and then dives right back into it, focusing on tugging Quinn's lower lip between her teeth and biting at it, not too hard, but still had enough that the question won't slip out.

And then Quinn twists her fingers again and Santana's too far gone to ask in any case, her hips moving, almost on their own accord, up and against Quinn's hand because she wants _more_ pressure and _more_ pinching and _more_ agitation and this is _so much better_ than her vibrator; they totally should have started doing this months ago.

She must have mumbled the thought, because Quinn is laughing, breathlessly, saying "God, Santana, you would," and thrusting two fingers deep into Santana, drawing out the moisture and using it to rub Santana once – twice – three times, until Santana comes, burying her face into Quinn's neck and biting it _hard_ to keep from shouting out.

Quinn slows down, moving her fingers in gentle circles to carry Santana through her orgasm, until Santana pushes Quinn's hand away and rolls onto her side. "Lie down flat, Q," she says, her voice husky with arousal and orgasm (and also because she hopes it might turn Quinn on), so Quinn does, moving away from the wall and lying out on Santana's bed, legs falling open, eyes falling shut. 

Santana kisses her way down Quinn's body, pausing again at her breasts, but only for a moment, because _hello_ , priorities. She pauses again at Quinn's belly button, tongue dipping in quickly, and then moves the rest of the way down, pushing Quinn's legs further apart once she's good and situated, and just takes a moment to look.

She's struck by this really strong urge to blow on Quinn, a strong, colder burst of air through pursed lips, then a warmer, slower stream, but she guesses that might not be first-time material, so she skips right ahead to stroking a finger down along the outside of Quinn's folds, and then slipping it in and stroking up, listening to hear if and when Quinn makes a sound.

The sound that Quinn does make at that is tiny, just a quick inhale of breath, but as soon as Santana hears it, she grins and touches the spot that made Quinn gasp like that with the tip of her tongue, pressing it hard against it, then licking over it, quick and soft, only moving from that spot once Quinn is tangling her hands in Santana's hair and _pushing_ her head harder against herself.

God, Santana can't wait until a month or maybe a week from now when they start getting into the really kinky stuff, because Quinn will probably go crazy once she lets loose, and Santana wants that more than anything.

She presses her tongue hard against Quinn's clit, rhythmically, breaking randomly to lick up the moisture collecting just below her mouth, until Quinn is pulling one of her hands away from Santana's head and letting out a muffled groan – presumably, she's stuffed it into her own mouth – and her thighs tighten against Santana's ears briefly before falling back, loose and open.

Santana takes one last long taste before crawling back up and kissing Quinn, dirty, shoving her tongue in Quinn's mouth so that Quinn can taste herself, and then, finally, collapsing at Quinn's side.

"That was fun," she says, after a brief silence that still somehow feels like it lasts forever.

"Mmmm," Quinn says, curling up and turning her head so that it's nuzzled between Santana's chin and chest. "Do you believe me now?"

"Yeah, I think you proved yourself pretty damn nicely," Santana says, and she can't fucking help stroking Quinn's hair, just once. Apparently she's a total fucking sap or whatever. "Soooooo-"

"I don't think this should be a one-time thing," Quinn interrupts. "So. It's not going to be a one-time thing."

"Well, of course not," Santana says, moving her hand from Quinn's hair to her waist, where she strokes Quinn's still-flushed skin gently. "That would be a fucking waste. Also, awkward, since we kind of live together."

"Well, as long as we're on the same page," Quinn says, and when Santana peeks, she has a totally wry expression on her face that still somehow manages to be strangely fond.

"Yeah," Santana says. She can feel herself dropping away into a nap – classes were long, and orgasms were intense – but there's something really important that she has to get across before she falls asleep. "Quinn – we'll need to change the sock on the door policy agreement on our roommate contract to something a little more useful. Like one that dictates sex every day and twice on weekends."

She falls asleep to the sound of Quinn's chuckles.

**Author's Note:**

> [lj](http://el_em_en_oh_pee.livejournal.com) | [tumblr](http://dulosis.tumblr.com)


End file.
